If hassling President* Bush is your thing

I'm thinking of killing can we have our ball back?. In the conservatory. With the rope. And this isn't so I'll get a bunch of e-mails saying, "No, no, Joy Division, don't break up!" They should have broken up. All good things must destroy themselves. Eventually. All cookies get hard.

QUESTION 1
If you were SUDDENLY the opposite sex, what name would you choose? How are your poems changed?

I would chose a name that would make me even hotter, like "Champ" or "Hero." It's hard to have one of those names and not think of yourself as a babe. Or a geographical place. Perhaps Prague Behrle.

My poems would be the same, but written in much sloppier handwriting.

QUESTION 2
Play the following scene out:
(A blue car pulls up beside you, they crack the tinted window)
Voice From Car: POET! WHAT SHOULD WE DO ABOUT THE WAR!?

My reply: "Well, you could start by getting out of that slick blue car, Slappy."

QUESTION 3
Explain how you see the internet's impact on poetry.

What? Sorry? I was just downloading pornography.

QUESTION 4
There's a new poetry library in Philadelphia and you are in charge of choosing the sculpture for the entrance. What is it?

Well, that Rocky statue. I was bummed to hear that that wasn't whereever it was supposed to be in the movie. I felt very cheated. If that movie happened in Boston, you could beat your ass it would be whereever it was in the fucking movie, depend on that (see also: Cheers). But in the library you could put a book in his hand. Reading = triumph. Or a statue of Allen Iverson reading. To inspire kids. Because they *know* that's the way to get ahead in life, right?

QUESTION 5:
Give us a solid 90 seconds of automatic writing on the topic of canned peas.

Our urine smells like cans. Breathless cans of green. P's never fed my baby. They definitely landed into the open mouth of alligators not indeginous to these areas. Trailer parks, they love them. Breakfasts filled with tight fists. And the way rubber smells makes it OK, we're flexible again. They are the big letters they want. Big round Rs and Hs, floating through the cosmos to the kid. You know?

QUESTION 6:
You knock on my door just as we're ready to begin a seance to contact dead poets. Who do you want to contact? What do you ask?

Poets none of us have ever heard of. The poor, forgotten ones. With names like "Brad Hunt" or "Denise Roberts." And ask them to whisper me a good one. Or where their hidden treasures lie, which book on the bookshelf to pull out to discover their dusty, neglected collected works.

I would also contact dead poets with hot ancestors. Who could hook me up. With those ancestors. In a pinch.

QUESTION 7:
How do you see literary criticism affecting the direction of poetry?

Like an anvil or an albatross. As the bitter sportswriters to the beseiged ballplayers. Like kill to buzz.

QUESTION 8:
Since the American war against Iraq began some poets have been saying that this is not a time for writing poems, and that our energy should only be focused on fighting against the war. How do you feel about this?

Which poets have said this? It's a bunch of bullshit, naturally. I remember me and my brother watching "The 3 Stooges" the day my grandmother died. And my mother came in and gave us hell. And Andy said something like, "What are we supposed to do, weep all day?" Anyone telling anyone that it's inappropriate to do anything is pretty weak anyway. They must be seriously shitty poets.

QUESTION 9:
APTV is the new All Poetry Television Network. You've been asked to create a poetry game show. What is it?

Like the old "20,000 dollar pyramid" With Dick Clark. A parter would say "Penguin" and you would say "Dust." And that would be worth a point. Then at the end you would sit beneath the pyramid, and you would have to guess "what a sonnet might say" and such.

Which current crush list member is Jim's perfect match?

Silliman/Burger 21 Grand Reading Report

Astral projection is an inexact science. In forgetting to carry the 1, I missed Mary Burger's reading (which sounds fantastic elsewhere. I blame myself. I originally ended up in a Ground Round in Topeka before I did some reconfiguring and checked out mapquest). Ron's reading was worth the 5-6 months traveling in the shadow realm will cost me. Those come off of the shit-end of my life anyway. And to get to see Stephanie's new hair-doo and Eileen's silk blouse (it didn't look silk or like a blouse) was worth the trip. I could not say hello to anyone for fear that I would draw them into the shadows I inhabited unguarded. I liked when Ron started reading some of his new sonnets, which were obviously inspired by me and mine. It felt good to give the old boy such a solid kick in the right direction! Finally, I thought to myself, I've gotten through to him. Especially liked the lines: "Green, green / a broccoli city / we all can boogie / forever in / catch a cab / to Red Lobster / Booyeah, Daddy." Or these from his new poem "Esophagous Handjob:" "Used yogurt / to clean the sink / you delicious / Easter Bunnies!" Don't believe the hype, he's a loveable guy. There was a lot more but I was distracted by the aforementioned hair and blouse (blouse?). I also thought that Tim Yu should move to the hot corner, and maybe bat clean-up. In a blink I was back on the blue couch here, buzzing with excitement for our art, and the after effects of astral travel: a ridiculous hard-on and painful star pattern of hemorroids. Not a good combo. God Bless You, Ron Silliman. Let all cities embrace you until you pat them on the back and they reluctantly and awkwardly cease.

What's Up with Jim?

What's Up With Jim

He's a narcissitic shoe gazer who hates what he loves what he sees.
He's shelving that was never put up.
He's a lost dime in a pocket of pissed off pennies
He's a deranged blow hole on a beached whale
He's a kettle whistling at the pot because it's ass is covered in flame.
He's a crossing guard who forgot his badge
He's a rising balloon bleeding air
He's a bull pen coach on the phone.
He's a foul pole.
He's a spotlight caught in a deer
He's Frank's black cherry wishniak soda
He's a blanket of thoughts.
He's a blistering fast ball
He's the chocolate milk of human kindness
He's a shark with bad teeth
He's a card carrying member of the null set
He's a cloud that has landed.